Things to do on a Tuesday

Tomorrow I could go into the office, but I believe that I shall take one final day on the back of Friday's distress to recuperate. This I rationalise by the fact that I still feel tired a lot of the time, despite getting plenty of sleep. Perhaps I lost a little more claret than I anticipated. Wednesday should be fine. I feel fine now, just tired. Of course, the fact that it's nearly 12.30am might conceivably have something to do with that.

No, tomorrow, I shall squeeze one further day of sick leave and stay home. It's not generally something I do, so it won't hurt for once.

And I should actually type up some stuff for NWO as promised a while back, though I must admit that nodding happily and saying yes was far easier than actually doing it. Character sheets are one thing, but Tribunal notes are quite another. I have to try and remember how we got where we did, and which characters are still alive, and which have met horrible, grisly ends in the name of art and free-form role playing. Still, if I can get through the sheets, I can reward myself with a nice, cathartic piece of character writing that I have brewing in my head, and which is destined at some point for a character sheet. I have worked out in my own mind a reason why a certain character as played differed so vastly from the character as written, and armed with this revelation, I can heap misery and guilt upon yet another character. Or maybe two. It's moments like this that remind me why I put myself through the periodic hell of freeform writing. In a curious way, I owe the revelation to thomryng's little survey on religion, as much as I do the characters involved.

I can't explain that without giving perhaps too much away, but the other NWO writers may be able to see what I'm driving at. If not, they will once it's written up. I hope.

And on that enigmatic note, I shall sign off for the evening.

Things to do on a Tuesday

Tomorrow I could go into the office, but I believe that I shall take one final day on the back of Friday's distress to recuperate. This I rationalise by the fact that I still feel tired a lot of the time, despite getting plenty of sleep. Perhaps I lost a little more claret than I anticipated. Wednesday should be fine. I feel fine now, just tired. Of course, the fact that it's nearly 12.30am might conceivably have something to do with that.

No, tomorrow, I shall squeeze one further day of sick leave and stay home. It's not generally something I do, so it won't hurt for once.

And I should actually type up some stuff for NWO as promised a while back, though I must admit that nodding happily and saying yes was far easier than actually doing it. Character sheets are one thing, but Tribunal notes are quite another. I have to try and remember how we got where we did, and which characters are still alive, and which have met horrible, grisly ends in the name of art and free-form role playing. Still, if I can get through the sheets, I can reward myself with a nice, cathartic piece of character writing that I have brewing in my head, and which is destined at some point for a character sheet. I have worked out in my own mind a reason why a certain character as played differed so vastly from the character as written, and armed with this revelation, I can heap misery and guilt upon yet another character. Or maybe two. It's moments like this that remind me why I put myself through the periodic hell of freeform writing. In a curious way, I owe the revelation to thomryng's little survey on religion, as much as I do the characters involved.

I can't explain that without giving perhaps too much away, but the other NWO writers may be able to see what I'm driving at. If not, they will once it's written up. I hope.

And on that enigmatic note, I shall sign off for the evening.

Doctor Who

Ladies and Gentlemen, and geeks of all sexes.

The Tenth Doctor:



suitandtieguy got there ahead of me, but hey, I'm posting it up, too!

( minor spoiler )

Doctor Who

Ladies and Gentlemen, and geeks of all sexes.

The Tenth Doctor:



suitandtieguy got there ahead of me, but hey, I'm posting it up, too!

( minor spoiler )

Being enigmatic

What is the proper form of address for a Cardinal, if you are speaking to him face-to-face? Does anyone out there know?

I'm not likely to meet one, you understand, but I'm writing something from the viewpoint of someone who is....

Being enigmatic

What is the proper form of address for a Cardinal, if you are speaking to him face-to-face? Does anyone out there know?

I'm not likely to meet one, you understand, but I'm writing something from the viewpoint of someone who is....

Aye, and there's the rub

Marvellous how things work out, isn't it? More precisely, it's marvellous how things don't work out.

I have shifted in one easy manoeuvre from lethargy to writer's block. Not this stuff of course, I can write inconsequential LJ entries until the cows come home, and still be tik-takking away through milking time and again when the ladies are on their way back out to ten acre field for a little top up of the cud.

No, it's the proper stuff that's eluding me. It took all afternoon to write a page or so. The best part is, I know what I want to write, I just can't drag out the preferred form of words. I suppose then, that it's not writer's block, but writer's impatience or something (there must be a word or phrase for it). I just can't settle on getting the words down and then going back to the edit; I keep editing and rephrasing as I write, instead, and this means that I get almost nothing written.

I shall, I think, allow that it's just not going to happen tonight. As it's nearly 11.30, I should be having a shave and a shower and getting ready to turn in, anyway. Tonight is after all a school night, and work beckons on the morrow.

Now there's a thing (completely unrelated, this). The line just dropped and then came on again immediately. It was off just long enough to baffle MSN Messenger into closing down - not that I'm actually in the middle of a conversation or anything, you understand, but I like to think that it's me who pulls the plug, not the random vagaries of digital chaos theory. Yes, I realise that qualifies me as rather naïve, thinking I can control something largely programmed by the Hounds of Microsquash^TM, and whose physical architecture is based upon a doodle by an inmate of the IBM Corporation, and then evolved by a couple of generations of web-fingered morlocks in Silicon Valley. Still, one tries, and one hopes against all evidence and good sense, that tappity-tapping on the keyboard and refusing to swear denotes control of some kind.

That said, I have just realised that I am sitting at my keyboard, typing whilst wearing a baseball stylee cap. Maybe the control is in the reverse direction, and subconsciously I am becoming one of those selfsame morlocks... >shudder<. I certainly have the physique for it (that and a craving for pizza). It could be worse, I guess, but as that wave of revelation passes through me, I confess that I am finding it difficult to think how.

Reading this back, I realise that I could have made it two short, snappy and self-contained entries, rather than one long ramble which schmoozes of in a random direction part way through.

I could have done, but where's the fun in that?

Consider this entire entry a late submission for the July Non Sequitur of the Month Award.

I may just win.

Aye, and there's the rub

Marvellous how things work out, isn't it? More precisely, it's marvellous how things don't work out.

I have shifted in one easy manoeuvre from lethargy to writer's block. Not this stuff of course, I can write inconsequential LJ entries until the cows come home, and still be tik-takking away through milking time and again when the ladies are on their way back out to ten acre field for a little top up of the cud.

No, it's the proper stuff that's eluding me. It took all afternoon to write a page or so. The best part is, I know what I want to write, I just can't drag out the preferred form of words. I suppose then, that it's not writer's block, but writer's impatience or something (there must be a word or phrase for it). I just can't settle on getting the words down and then going back to the edit; I keep editing and rephrasing as I write, instead, and this means that I get almost nothing written.

I shall, I think, allow that it's just not going to happen tonight. As it's nearly 11.30, I should be having a shave and a shower and getting ready to turn in, anyway. Tonight is after all a school night, and work beckons on the morrow.

Now there's a thing (completely unrelated, this). The line just dropped and then came on again immediately. It was off just long enough to baffle MSN Messenger into closing down - not that I'm actually in the middle of a conversation or anything, you understand, but I like to think that it's me who pulls the plug, not the random vagaries of digital chaos theory. Yes, I realise that qualifies me as rather naïve, thinking I can control something largely programmed by the Hounds of Microsquash^TM, and whose physical architecture is based upon a doodle by an inmate of the IBM Corporation, and then evolved by a couple of generations of web-fingered morlocks in Silicon Valley. Still, one tries, and one hopes against all evidence and good sense, that tappity-tapping on the keyboard and refusing to swear denotes control of some kind.

That said, I have just realised that I am sitting at my keyboard, typing whilst wearing a baseball stylee cap. Maybe the control is in the reverse direction, and subconsciously I am becoming one of those selfsame morlocks... >shudder<. I certainly have the physique for it (that and a craving for pizza). It could be worse, I guess, but as that wave of revelation passes through me, I confess that I am finding it difficult to think how.

Reading this back, I realise that I could have made it two short, snappy and self-contained entries, rather than one long ramble which schmoozes of in a random direction part way through.

I could have done, but where's the fun in that?

Consider this entire entry a late submission for the July Non Sequitur of the Month Award.

I may just win.